by Joan Smith
Clay’s spirits sank even further as he remembered that Wanda, too, was about to announce her betrothal. It might appear in the papers today—yet another blow to his dignity. “It wasn’t Wanda, Rex,” he said helplessly.
“Ellie, then,” Rex obediently changed his opinion.
“Ellie? Which one is she?” Ivor asked.
“Why, she’s the best of the lot,” Rex answered promptly. “Wonderfully taken with her, was Clay.”
“I don’t recall a Miss Ellie,” Rodney said. “Surely the girl’s name was Wanda.”
“There is a Wanda, but she ain’t the one Clay fancies,” Rex explained with great condescension.
“A beauty, is she?” Rodney persisted.
“An Incomparable,” Rex returned.
“I am looking forward to meeting her,” Rodney said, and he looked so smug that there was every reason to doubt he believed the story.
“And so you will, next Season,” Rex said.
“Stealing a march on us, you sly old dog,” Ivor chided his cousin. “Trying get this one tied up before ever she hits the market.”
“You’ve learned something from your experience with the Rose,” Rodney added. “Not taking any chances. A hard teacher, experience, but an effective one.”
They continued in this bantering spirit for some time, till Claymore felt he could decently leave without appearing to run away.
“Hell and damnation,” he cursed softly when they were beyond earshot “It is just as I feared. Everyone is talking about it, laughing at me. I wish I had offered for Wanda.”
“Wouldn’t have done you no good, Clay. She was three-quarters engaged to Hibbard before ever we got there. Pity you hadn’t tumbled for Ellie, for she’d have done as well when you got her dolled up a bit.”
“That wouldn’t have done me any good either. She hates me.”
Rex looked at him, dumbfounded. “No, what do you mean, Clay? Ellie don’t hate you. Don’t hate anyone. Not that sort of a girl. Wanda now, she’s a hater. Fact, Clay. Hates me only because I happen to be an inch or so shorter than she is.”
“Forget about Wanda.”
“Forgot about her years ago. Haven’t had a bit of use for her ever since—well, never mind that.”
“Let’s get out of here.” Clay arose and dragged his companion from the Pump Room within two minutes of having taken a seat.
A dismal two weeks ensued. This was by no means because of the lack of amenities, for even if Bath had been eclipsed by Brighton, it still offered card parties, balls, concerts, assemblies, parks, pleasant drives, and plenty of company. A surfeit of company, it seemed, all of it full of two subjects: Rose’s jilting of himself, and her approaching nuptials. The town was buzzing with it. If they dined at the York Inn, they met the older set, who smiled pityingly; and if, to avoid them, they tried the White Hart, they met their own friends, which was even worse. Even the Pelican was not safe, for there would always be a few fellows with their pockets to let putting up at the cheaper establishment. Clay couldn’t eat a bite, and Rex was getting chubbier from eating for two.
While his male acquaintances made not the slightest demur in roasting him over his jilting, the females were even worse. Not that they roasted, but they were so commiserating. They looked at him as an object of pity. Every time he passed a pair of them, he heard whispers behind fans or raised fingers—”Rose,” “Miss Golden,” “jilted,” “Gretna Green,” till his head spun with it. He was of a proud disposition, but even the most humble soul would have been cast into despair at being so openly scorned and pitied.
Through it all there was the unsettling thought that he really could have been quite happy with Ellie. Never once had she mentioned the name of Miss Golden to him. She was damnably attractive, in her sister’s gown. Especially that night in the garden, at the assembly. She was not a forward girl like Miss Golden, or Wanda. No stolen kisses for her. She had very nearly knocked him off the seat when he had tried to take her hand. A violent temper the girl had. He could handle that. It was all an academic matter, however, as she had stated quite categorically that she loathed him, and was glad he had saved her the bother of rejecting his offer. Knew about his fortune and title too. Even that had not induced her to be conciliating toward him.
He was on the verge of going to Claymore Hall in Somerset and enduring his mother’s disparaging comments for a few weeks, till Rose’s wedding should be over, when it happened. He was walking down Milsom Street with Rex one afternoon, looking desultorily in a few shop windows, when he saw approaching Everleigh’s cousin, Aubrey Hansom. The sort of a fellow you hated on sight, and there had been a good deal more than mere sight between them over the years. Suffered through Eton and Oxford with the curst fellow, and met him every time you set foot in your club, or the park, or at a ball. He was everywhere, smiling snidely and being condescending, and ready to knife you in the back if you so much as blinked.
“Ah, Claymore, heard you was here,” Hansom said, smiling in his hateful way, with mockery lurking behind those old yellow eyes, like a tiger’s. Naturally he pulled up for a chat.
“And Rumor, for once, was correct,” Claymore informed him, with a barely civil nod.
“Ah yes. Rumor,” Hansom replied, in a sardonic way. “But it is perhaps a subject best avoided at this time, n’est-ce pas?”
“There is no subject you need avoid in my presence,” Clay said, anger gripping him.
“Recovering, old boy? You don’t look too chipper to me, but there, it will soon be all over, and society will find something else to chatter about. A nine days’ wonder— well, say nineteen.” He laughed teasingly.
“What will soon be over?” Clay asked, just as though he didn’t know the answer.
“Why, the Rose’s wedding to Everleigh. What else is anyone talking about?”
“I thought perhaps you alluded to my own wedding.” Fool, fool, fool! He knew while the words were being uttered that he had gone too far.
“Your wedding?” The tiger eyes popped. For one exquisite moment the difficulties looming ahead were worth the price, to have had the pleasure of routing this antagonist
“Not official, old chap. Pray, keep it under your hat.”
“But what is this? Whom are you marrying?”
Rex was looking as curious as Hansom, and Claymore cleared his throat nervously. “Not official yet. You’ll hear of it soon enough.”
“It’s the Wanderley girl, that’s who it is,” Hansom challenged. “Had it of Lucknow, but I thought it was all a hum. So you really mean to have her. It can’t be the one who came out this past Season, for she’s engaged to someone else, Siderow was telling me. It must be the twin.”
Aware that he was slipping into deeper waters than he cared to, Clay began backing off. “Nothing official. I daresay I ought not to have mentioned it yet.”
He was not to be let off so easily. “Pretty, is she?” Hansom asked eagerly. “As pretty as Wanda?”
“Prettier,” Rex removed his cane from his mouth long enough to answer. “Twins, but Ellie’s prettier. And older.”
“Well, by Jove.” Hansom smiled. One victim had escaped him, but his malice was pretty evenly distributed, and he would not mind giving the Rose’s nose a tweak. “Then she must be prettier than Miss Golden too, for I thought she and Wanda Wanderley were evenly matched.”
“The announcement is not to be made yet,” Claymore reminded him in desperation. “The lady is not even out.”
“Ho, you’ve got the jump on us all this time. She must be something special if you are getting her locked up before anyone else gets a look in. Mum’s the word, old chap. Mum’s the word.” Then he dashed off to tell, in the greatest secrecy, several persons the news that Claymore was as well as hitched to one of the Wanderley Beauties.
“What did you say that for?” Rex asked flatly, as soon as they were alone.
“Because I’m a damned fool, that’s why. And I’m sick and tired of being pitied by every school miss and Bath quiz
in town. Yes, and I’m sick and tired of hearing whispers behind my back about Miss Golden. I wish I had never met the girl.”
“Yes, but the thing is—said Ellie hated you. Don’t think she does, but you oughtn’t to have said you was engaged, Clay. Not the thing.”
“You don’t have to tell me! I hope Hansom keeps his face shut.”
“Half of Bath knows it already, if I know Hansom. Yes, and the Rose will know before many hours too. He’ll make the trip to London special to tell her. Spiteful fellow. Pity you told this Banbury tale to him, of all people.”
“It was almost worth it, to see him stare.”
“His jaw fell an inch.”
“There’s only one thing to do now. We’ll go back to the Abbey, and I will offer for Ellie.”
“That don’t solve nothing. Not if she hates you. Don’t know why you think so, Clay.”
“Because she told me so, that’s why,” he explained in exasperation.
“The devil you say! Came right out with it? Don’t sound like Ellie. On the other hand, though, she talks plain. Well, I’ll tell you, Clay, there’s no point in going. She ain’t going to have you if she hates you. Stands to reason. Even I can see that.”
“But does she hate my title and fortune?”
“No, she ain’t that dumb, but she has to take you to get her hands on them, and Ellie won’t marry you if she hates you. I mean, even Wanda wouldn’t have you, so that goes to show you they ain’t the kind that goes marrying for money, whatever you may say.”
“I don’t know why she should hate me. I never did her any harm.” This was a point that had bothered Claymore considerably over the past weeks. Ellie had seemed to like him well enough till that night in the garden, or perhaps in the dining hall before they had gone into the garden she had already been glaring at him. But why? All he had done was to tease and flirt a little. Lord, what was there in that to give her a disgust of him, and to go saying that if London beaux were like him, she didn’t want to meet any of them. A very unnatural girl was what she was. But the more he thought of her, seated in the garden, hiccoughing into her hankie, the more he longed to see her.
“Thing is,” Rex advised, assuming his wise face, “you can just deny it flat. Say it was all a misunderstanding, and you can be sure the Wanderleys will say the same thing. Who’s to believe it, when you both deny it flat?”
“I can’t take any more humiliation, Rex. Everyone will think I’ve been ditched again. I’m going back to the Abbey, and I’ll make her marry me.”
Chapter Eight
The gentlemen arrived back at the Abbey on the very day chosen by Mrs. Homberly for leaving for Bath. She was excessively cross with her son for not being prepared to accompany her on the trip. No lessening of her anger occurred when she learned that he was not only not to accompany her, but had plans to entertain in her house, with half its servants gone and the drawing room in holland covers, a very eligible young Marquis (who was excessively fond of Missie). Rex accepted her tirade calmly, told her not to worry, he and Clay would do fine with the Ruxteds, the couple who were staying behind to look after the house. Finally, to appease her wrath, he told her they would join her at Bath later, though he was pretty sure this formed no part of Claymore’s plans. The Marquis was spared her abuse, as he was upstairs directing his valet to get him some clean linens and press a coat, as he was going to make a call directly.
Within ten minutes of the family’s quarrelsome departure he was downstairs in the Rose Saloon, sitting on a holland cover that had been placed over the “good” rose cut velvet chair, to prevent its becoming dusty. He was rubbing his chin, and rehearsing words designed to soften the heart of a woman who hated him. Unfortunately it was the words “marquis” and “twenty thousand a year” that kept recurring, and he was by no means sure they were the right ones. In his own mind they were the sole advantages he had to offer, for at this moment of truth he was only too aware of his own ugly person, his extravagance, and generally worthless character.
Rex entered, eating a ham sandwich he had procured from Mrs. Ruxted in the kitchen. “You’re all cleaned up,” he said accusingly.
“I can’t make an offer in form in dirty linens and dusty top boots,” Clay returned angrily.
“You’re never going to do it today! I thought you’d wait a bit. Soften her up first. Flatter her and so on. Maybe take her for a spin in your curricle.”
“She hates flattery. That is precisely when she began to hate me, when I told her she was prettier than Wanda. I have been reconsidering that whole night, and that is when she first began to glare at me. Yes, and rides in the curricle don’t work either. It was the curricle that turned Wanda on me, the day I took her to Needford. Well forget the flattery and curricle rides and get on with making the offer.”
“Can’t do it on an empty stomach. I’ll have Mrs. Ruxted fix you some bread and meat.”
“I don’t want food. My stomach is churning already. What should I say, Rex?”
“What did you say to Rose?”
“Whatever I said, it was not efficacious. As you may just happen to recall, she turned me down.”
“That’s true,” Rex said, licking a blob of mustard from his thumb. “I’ll tell you what, Clay. Tell her you love her. That ought to do it. You wouldn’t stick at one little white lie, would you? Shouldn’t think so anyway. Been telling enough of ‘em, all over Bath any time this fortnight. Only thing to do. Daresay you’ll come to love her in time. A nice little thing, Ellie.”
“I do love her,” Clay said, scowling harder than ever at Rex, who was looking at him in amazement.
“Eh? Love Ellie? Since when?”
“Since ... oh, devil take it, how should I know? But I do love her, Rex. That’s why I don’t know what to say. It was no problem with the Rose, for I don’t think I really cared a hoot whether she had me or not, except for my pride. But I love Ellie.”
“Tell her then. That’ll turn the trick. See if it don’t.”
“It won’t if she hates me,” Clay said gloomily.
“Write her a poem,” Rex said, marveling at his ingenuity.
“I don’t know how to write a poem.”
“Used to scribble ‘em off to the Rose. Seen you do it a score of times.”
“Just changing a word here or there in a real poem. That won’t work with Ellie. She reads.” He arose and said staunchly, “I’m off. The worst she can do is refuse me. She can’t kill me.”
“No, no. Not violent at all. Besides, you’re bigger than she is.” Rex’s reassurance went unheard, as Clay was already heading for the door.
Mrs. Wanderley and Wanda were in the village selecting materials for lingerie—the bride’s clothes proper would be purchased in London, but they had to buy something to entertain themselves. The butler informed Claymore that Mr. Wanderley was in the conservatory. With sinking heart. Clay made his way to the overheated building and found Adam poking his fingers into black soil around a strange-looking plant with thick spreading stems covered with large spines.
“Grandicornis,” Adam told him. “Of the Euphorbia family, all the way from Africa. This soil is too moist. It’s a succulent plant, like cactus. Abel must have watered. It’s going soft around the roots.”
“That’s very interesting, sir,” Claymore told him. “Er, I wish to speak to you on a matter of some importance.”
“Yes, go ahead. I’m listening,” Adam said over his shoulder. If he could hear over the clatter of pots and watering jugs, it would be a miracle.
“About your daughter, sir....”
“Too late. She took Hibbard,” Adam replied offhandedly.
“Not Miss Wanda, sir. It’s Ellie I hope to offer for, if you don’t dislike the connection.”
“Ellie?” The clatter stopped, and the head came up to attention. “No. Ellie ain’t out yet.”
“Well, I know that, sir, but she is eighteen.”
“What do you want her for?” Adam asked bluntly. His suspicious eye seemed
to suggest the reason could not possibly be a good one.
“Well, I love her.”
“How does she feel about you?” Claymore felt no eyes had ever looked so deeply into his soul as those blue eyes that were trained on him now. Almost as if they could read the truth—that Ellie hated him.
“I—I don’t know, exactly. I haven’t spoken to her, see. Sir.”
“Ho, don’t try to gull me you haven’t been making up to her on the sly. Will she have you?”
“I don’t know.” Clay felt his shirt stick to his back, with the combined heat of discomfort and the conservatory.
“All alike, you London beaux. Young Siderow slithering around behind trees with Joan, saying he didn’t know if she’d have him too, never knowing she told me I was to give my permission two days before. Well, Ellie hasn’t said anything to me. It’s up to her. She has no fortune to speak of, you know. You’ll have to do something handsome for her.”
“I am prepared to do that. I have twenty thousand a year.”
“I know that. Know all about it. Thought it was Wanda you were after, or I’d have hinted you away.”
Claymore looked at him in perplexity. The objection obviously was not to himself, if he was considered good enough for Wanda. Nor did he quite forget, in his state of alarm, that he was a marquis, with twenty thousand a year. “I’m afraid I don’t understand you, sir.”
“I’ll make it clear then. Ever since Wanda was two years old she’s had an eye for the fellows. The only thing for a girl like that is to get her buckled up young, and I’m not too fussy who gets her. He’ll have his hands full, and no bargain either. Well, the Hibbards are settling ten thousand on Wanda. Ellie is a different matter. She’s young—young-thinking, I mean—not in any hurry to get riveted. She’ll improve with age, as Joanie did. She might have whom she pleases when she gets to town, and I’m in no hurry to give her away.”
“I have agreed to make a settlement.”
“It’s no paltry ten thousand. You understand that?”
“Paltry!”
“Paltry.” The eagle eye glared, and Claymore felt his own eyes fall.